


in these hidden spaces (these are our places)

by LizMikaelson



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-01-24 01:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizMikaelson/pseuds/LizMikaelson
Summary: hope comes into the gym in 1x05. things escalate from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for someone very awesome who was sad yesterday. i hope this will cheer you up bc you deserve all the good things. 
> 
> happiness is a stupid & exhausting uphill battle, but i know you can do it.

For Hope Mikaelson, it starts with a boy whose life she wants to save.

He just wants a home, a place to belong.

“It would have been worth it, for me,” he says, when they stand at a bus stop, and he sounds angry.

She wishes she felt regret. She does not. Losing people is never, ever worth whatever they might be dying for. She presses her bracelet into his hand, implores him to call her and goes back to the place she calls home.

She needs to forget the look in his eyes, lost, lonely, disappointed.

She needs to punch something.

For Lizzie Saltzman, it starts with a girl she hates.

It starts with biting words and the pain of regret.

Because she loves Josie.

 

But she knows, even if she would never ever admit it, that Penelope does too.

 

She needs to forget the pain she has caused, the pain she is afraid of causing. Because she does not want to be responsible for her sister’s suffering.

 

She needs to punch something.

 

And because her day has not been bad enough, minutes later, the second bane of her existence also shows up. She might just wish for Penelope back.

But of course, Hope Mikaelson walks straight into her gym like she owns the place and feels entitled to ask questions.

 

“Are you okay?” And she sounds like she actually cares, not like she’s the girl that destroyed everything. The one who brought Lizzie’s world to pieces and stole all the things that were supposed to be hers.

“None of your business,” she snaps.

Hope steps further inside and she doesn’t look good either, Lizzie notices at a second glance, tired and drawn, even by her standards.

She nods, quietly accepting Lizzie’s rejection. “You want to punch something more interesting?”

And she wants to say no, throw Hope out of here because this is still the school her parents built, for her and Josie, and Hope is part of the reason that her safe place is not all it should be.

She just also really wants to punch her.

“No powers,” she says, “no super strength, no super speed.”

 

Hope nods, almost quietly, walks over to the cupboard and takes out the wraps, taping her hands.

Sparring with Hope is fun. Lizzie knows that she’s holding back, but that’s only fair. After all, she’s been stealing Lizzie’s dad for training sessions for years. And Lizzie does not need to hold back, because Hope is practically invincible and so she just lets go.

Lets herself fall and fights. Feels alive. Feels the pain pour out of her, replaced by something quieter.

And when she ends up with Hope pinning her to the ground, smugly smirking, she's not even angry anymore.

Just- competitive. Because for once, she'd like to get the upper hand on Hope Mikaelson. 

And she knows she can’t overpower Hope, but she wants to win. She’s a competitive person. And really, that’s it. That’s all it is. The only reason she arches upwards, kisses her.

Plans to take her by surprise.

 

And she breaks the kiss after seconds to flip them over, looks at Hope’s eyes, widened in shock, and wants to smirk.

This is what she does not expect:

Hope kisses her again.

And it’s a good kiss.

A really good kiss, one that has her tangling her hands in Hope’s hair and leaves her wanting more. And she feels alive and like she can breathe again, all at once. And maybe she can have this, just for another minute, this quiet kind of peace.

 

They’re both breathing heavily when they break apart and Hope’s hair is messy and her pupils are dilated and Lizzie feels alive. And she wants more, wants Hope, wants this.

“Just don’t think,” she requests into the silence.

Hope’s eyes are on her, blue and calming.

“Okay,” she says, and her voice is quiet and honestly, Lizzie expected any other reaction from her.

This is what she didn’t expect:

Hope arching upwards, kissing her again.

And if last time was good, this is a great kiss, Hope’s hands on her back, pulling her down. Suddenly, Lizzie is acutely aware that they’re both just wearing sports clothes and that she can feel Hope’s body underneath her, full breasts pressing into her own.

Hope's hand move, slip under her shirt and Lizzie breaks the kiss to pull it off. Hope's hands are warm on her skin, and she feels on fire.

 

Hope shifts them a little, sits up so that Lizzie is straddling her and her hand moves lower, traces over her hip bone and the line of her pants and her movements are careful and Lizzie rolls her eyes. “Get on with it, Mikaelson.”

 

And that seemed to be the permission she was waiting for, because suddenly Hope’s hand is between her legs, pushing her panties aside, and she can hear Hope’s sharp inhale of breath. And before she can say anything else, Hope slides two fingers inside of her and Lizzie lets out a strangled gasp.

 

Hope fucks her with hard, sharp movements, and Lizzie reaches for her shoulders and digs her nails into Hope’s skin. Hope never stops touching her, her free hand on Lizzie’s back and tracing over her sides and her mouth on Lizzie’s neck and her collarbone and Lizzie rolls her hips and throws her head back and feels.

 

She slides one of her hands down, between her legs, circles her clit with fast movements and Hope’s mouth slides over her breasts, not gentle, but biting almost roughly and she’s overwhelmed by sensation.

 

Hope curls her fingers, just, just right and muffles Lizzie’s scream with her hand across her mouth.

 

And Hope looks just the tiniest hint of smug and honestly, that’s an expression Lizzie wants to wipe off her face immediately. So she pushes her hand against Hope’s chest until she has her lying on the ground.

 

 

 

“So,” Hope speaks into the silence, minutes later, and Lizzie shakes her head.

“Don’t. We both had a bad day, we never need to talk about it again.”

She expects resistance, some righteous debate but Hope just nods. “Works for me. Here’s your shirt.”

 

She doesn’t tell Josie. Not that night, not the next morning, on their birthday. And that is weird. She normally tells her sister everything.

Maybe it’s because she couldn’t handle the way Jo would look at her, concerned, disappointed.

Mostly because telling sister would make it real. She tells Josie everything that matters.

This does not.

It’s never going to happen again.

 

 

And she means that. She does. 

One bad decision isn’t going to make or break anything, and by the next evening, dancing with M.G and then with Raf, she has almost completely forgotten about it.

 

Hope seemed willing to keep her mouth shut, this time, and since no rumours are exploding over the school, all is well.

 

And then her father storms into the party, frantic words and hurried explanations and her night goes to hell.

 

And she's not looking for Hope, explicitly, when she wanders into the common room in the middle of the night. Josie collapsed into bed and Lizzie feels restless, powerless against the happenings around her. Too much is changing far too fast. 

Either way, Hope is there.

 

She look surprised when she looks up from where she was reading next to the fireplace. Stands up and walks towards Lizzie. “I can leave,” she offers.

And Lizzie seems to be making a lot of stupid decisions these days, but she can still worry about that tomorrow. So she reaches for Hope’s wrist, wraps her fingers around it and steps closer, until there’s only inches left between them. ”Stay,” Lizzie says.

“Are you sure?” Hope says, and her voice is very quiet and far too gentle.

“I need to not think about the fact that I sucked the magic out of the mother who tried to bury my sister tonight.” And Hope is still looking at her so incredibly softly, eyes filled with concern and that is not something she can deal with.

 

“We’re not friends,” she continues, a little harshly. “If I wanted therapy, I would have gone to Emma. So if you’re not interested, I have other options.”

She does. She wouldn’t actually use them. But she could.

Instead, she moves closer, traces her thumb over the soft skin of Hope’s wrist.

 

And Hope keeps surprising her these days, because she places a careful, tender hand on Lizzie’s neck and stands on her toes to kiss her. 

 

She ends up on one of the couches, right in front of the fireplace, and pulls until Hope is straddling her.

Hope’s mouth moves over the exposed skin of her neck and she switches between harsh bites that will leave her bruised and soothing them with her tongue and she moves down Lizzie’s body far too slowly. Her fingers trail over Lizzie’s arms, down her sides.

She fastens her hands around Hope’s waist, around the silky material of her dress. Holds on.

And as Hope's mouth lingers at her pulse point, as she uses her hands to tug up Lizzie’s shirt, and then yanks it over her head, she can feel herself forgetting.

Instead, she focuses on Hope’s lips trailing softly over her chest, on her hands cupping Lizzie’s breasts and thumbing over her nipples and then suddenly Hope’s mouth is on her neck again, harshly sucking and she will have to cover this up in the morning, but it’s so worth it.

Hope drops to her knees, pulls down Lizzie’s sweatpants and her panties, and Lizzie can hear a sharp intake of breath, possibly her own, when Hope’s mouth moves up over her thighs, sharp bites and gentle nips and Hope’s lips slowly ascending up her legs, her hands pushing them further apart.

And the sight of Hope Mikaelson, on her knees, in an aubergine evening gown, is nothing Lizzie will forget any time soon.

Forgetting seems to be becoming more of a challenge, these days.

 

Yet, there’s something about the sight in front of her that leaves her utterly intoxicated and it’s all so much more than she can deal with. “I didn’t know it would be be this easy to get you on your knees,” she snaps. 

Hope bites into her thigh with a hint of harshness. Lizzie does not whimper. Nor does she spread her leges wider.

Hope looks up at her, her eyes glittering with mirth in the light of the fire. “Is now really the right time to piss me off?"

"It's always the right time to piss you off," she says and is rewarded with Hope’s laughter, deep and low.

 

Suddenly Hope’s mouth is between her legs and she grips the fabric of the couch as Hope traces careful patterns with her tongue, as her lips slide over Lizzie

 

Hope’s hands slide under her thighs, pulling her closer and in the next moment her mouth is around Lizzie’s clit.

 

“Fuck,” she breathes out and arches forward, closer, and it’s all too much, Hope between her legs, her mouth on Lizzie’s clit and her hands rip the fabric beneath them as she comes.

 

She doesn’t quite know what to say, as Hope moves, stands up, and for several seconds, they stare at each other in silence and then there is movement and clattering in the hallway.

 

“It’s you dad,” Hope says.

She snaps into action, pulls her shirt over her head quickly. “Get out of here,” she orders Hope, who looks hesitant.

 

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “Go. Now. I destroyed my birth mother's zombie self tonight. I'll get away with saying I had a nightmare. Go.”

 

Hope nods, silently, moves quickly towards the door at the far end of the room. 

Lizzie pulls her pants up, puts on her best innocent smile and prepares to face her father.

The next morning she finds a note on her nightstand.

_I'm sorry. H._

It's- a blanket apology on a piece of paper fixes nothing, and she doesn't even know if Hope means it. What she means, if she's apologizing for the fire or the rumors or last night, nothing or everything or something in between.

But she's already packing her bags, so they don’t see each other again 

And she doesn’t know why she texts, that morning, when they’re on their way to the airport. Maybe she’s just grateful, because Josie looks tired and drawn and exhausted, but she’s alive. Maybe she wants to acknowledge the apology Hope left her with. Maybe- well- she doesn’t really understand why she does things anymore, these days.

 

_Thank you for saving my sister._

She doesn’t really expect a reply and nearly drops her phone when she receives a picture of endless plains, the next day. 

_Be glad you’re in Europe. Your Dad and I are in Kansas._

And Hope so much as mentioning her Dad normally makes her angry, makes her feel horrible and lonely, but there’s something so light about the ridiculous picture, she can’t help but smile.

So she sends back the absolutely delicious cappuccinos she and Josie are currently enjoying.

_Jealous, Mikaelson?_

She doesn’t really expect a reply, is all the more surprised when she receives one the next day.

_Very much. Fighting a underwater monster._

And she doesn’t know how this become a thing, sending Hope’s pictures of all the amazing sights she’s seeing and receiving complaints about monsters in return.

 

_Nightmare Monster. Not allowed to go to sleep. Still jealous of Europe._

It’s the earliest hint of morning and she’s sitting on the balcony of Mum’s apartment and everyone else is still asleep. She dials before she can begin to regret it.

Hope’s voice at the other end of the phone sounds shocked. “Lizzie? Is everything alright?”

And probably, if it were Hope calling her, she’d also be expecting a mass murder so she just rolls her eyes. “Everything’s fine.”

She can hear Hope breathe, then relax, and her voice sounds much lighter when she next speaks. “Well, if this is a booty call, you should know I’m horrible at teleportation.”

“Arrogant much? I’m just making sure the resident hero’s not asleep yet. Who else will slay the monster?”

And Hope chuckles into the phone and Lizzie can almost imagine her, smiling, at the other end of the world.

They don’t talk, not really, not about the important things. She talks about the delicious petit-fours they had yesterday and Hope groans and grumbles and explains about the monster, and the urn.

 

 

 

She dreams about Hope, some nights. And she could deal if it were sex dreams.

This is an inconvenient attraction and Lizzie plans on getting over it sooner rather than later.

But this is what she dreams about:

Hope’s eyes.

Lizzie thinks she has eyes like the ocean, a powerful, unstoppable force of destruction, and at the same time, peaceful and quiet.

Blue, anyway.

Blue.

This is an inconvenient attraction and she is Lizzie Saltzman. She will force it to disappear.

 

 

 

She’s known for a long time. Maybe since Penelope said the words to her face in the gym that day, maybe even longer than that. But hearing the words from Jo, knowing that they are true, it’s- it- it’s almost unbearably painful.

 

And she knows that she’s in far too deep already, playing with fire because of an attraction that can’t ever be real, but somehow, she still finds herself walking the corridors of the school in the middle of the night.

 

Hope’s door is locked with a spell and she removes it, steps inside.

 

"I saw you watching," she greets.

Hope looks surprised to see her, carefully puts down the books she's been reading. "Watching?"

She moves to the foot of the bed, places the ropes down and lingers. "You couldn't keep your eyes away when you and your little tagalong boyfriend had me all tied up."

"He is not my boyfriend," Hope says, again, and Lizzie rolls her eyes.

"That is what you're focusing on?"

And Hope blushes, the slightest, most delicious tinge of pink on her cheeks.

"I'll make you a deal," Lizzie says, twists the first button of her blouse slowly between her fingers. "I'll do whatever you want. All you have to do is say it."

It's a standstill. Lizzie waits patiently, knows that Hope is going to give in. Can see that she wants to.

"Unbutton your blouse," Hope says, her voice quiet and low.

 

Lizzie does as she’s asked, moves each button carefully and slowly and watches Hope watching her, face flushed, her hands twisted into the sheets. She slips out of her blouse, drops it onto the floor behind her.

 

They linger in the silence, until Hope bites her lip. “Take off your bra,” she says.

 

“Come here,” she says next, and Lizzie crawls up the length of the bed, settles herself in Hope’s lap.

 

“Kiss me.”

 

After that, for a bit, her world becomes reduced to Hope’s voice, throaty and low, as she undresses them, kisses and kisses Hope.

 

It’s only when Hope is stretched out underneath her, her hands at Lizzie’s sides, that hesitation crosses her face and she tilts her face a little, avoids Lizzie’s gaze.

 

“So, were you planning on using those?” Hope mutters and Lizzie takes in their position and the colour spread out over Hope’s face, spreading down to her chest, and the hint of embarrassment in her eyes and - _oh_. This is not what she expected. It might be better.

 

Her hands are shaking when she wraps the rope around Hope’s wrists, a little nervous, but mostly a deep, lingering exhileration.

 

When she’s done, she looks at Hope, spread out before her and so gorgeously beautiful and wonders almost mildly, if this is their equilibrium.

If Hope, tied up and naked, telling Lizzie what to do, is the way they can finally be at peace with each other.

If in this battle that they have been fighting for years, hurting each other and taking and giving nothing but pain, this is the way they can come to a standstill.

She traces a careful line over Hope's body, travels her fingers down from Hope's neck, over her collarbone, around her breasts and over her sides before she stops.

"Please," Hope breathes out and Lizzie raises a single eyebrow.

She's never felt more powerful or more powerless.

Doesn't move.

"Please touch me."

And she acquiesces, drops her hand between Hope’s legs and Hope is wet underneath her touch and Lizzie inhales deeply at that, and moves her mouth over Hope’s breasts, closes her lips around a nipple.

 

Hope shudders. “Fuck me,” she says.

 

Lizzie pushes two fingers inside of her, a swift movement and gives Hope a moment to adjust before she starts moving. And she’s hoovering above Hope, half-sitting and there’s distance between them and for a moment, she’s almost tempted to close it.

 

Instead, she focuses on fucking Hope, slow, steady movement and Hope arches up and she looks delicious like this, Lizzie thinks, hands tied together over her head, bite marks Lizzie left there scattered over her chest.

 

“Kiss me,” Hope commands and Lizzie moves closer to her, on top of her, and their position suddenly feels all the more intimate, with their bodies pressed together and she moves her fingers, out, back inside, at a rapid pace now, and kisses Hope, slow and deep and dirty hot.

 

Hope is tightening around her fingers and Lizzie kisses her again.

 

“Fuck- oh god- Lizzie,” Hope gasps.

 

She presses her thumb against Hope’s clit, fucks her, never stops kissing her and watches her as she comes.

 

And she should move away, as she slides her fingers slowly out of Hope, but she cant bear to, so she stays, traces her fingers over Hope’s forehead and presses soft kisses to her lips and for a moment ignores just how bad of an idea this is.

 

 

 

The next morning, Hope ruins spring break. 

Hope ruins spring break. Yet another one. And everything has been too much recently, and the memories of last night, Josie’s words, unbearably cold and Hope’s eyes, dangerously soft, have her on edge.

 

And so she keeps poking, edging Hope on, because she needs to know, because she needs to understand and make sense of what happened then. What’s happening now.

 

They fight and they fight and they face a mummy and Hope says, “I would never do that.”

 

She sounds so angry, so utterly hurt and so devastated.

 

For a moment, Lizzie almost believes that she’s telling the truth.

 

In the car, Hope begins talking again, and her voice sounds so real, so truthful and honest. Lizzie trusts her, in so many ways, more and more, these days, and she can tell that this is not a lie.

And yet- the words barely leave her lips, because she doesn’t want to say them. Because they entail something much deeper than heart break, because this can not be true.

But she says the truth. Breaks her heart, heals her soul. Breaks her soul, heals her heart.

She doesn't know. Not anymore. Not when she is shattering her own world, destroying everything she knew to be true. But she is certain that nothing will ever, ever be the same again, after this.

“I believe you.”

Hope doesn't quite understand the weight of her admission as she keeps talking, asks the question Lizzie knows she has to answer.

And as they stare across the car she is finally certain that Hope is telling the truth.

Can see it in Josie's eyes, clear as day.

And she collapses against the uncomfortable seats of the stupid van.

And there is a warm hand covering her own and Hope tangles their fingers together, and Lizzie holds on, far too tightly, and prays that the world will fix itself.

Instead, everything goes even further to hell.

"I had a crush on you," her sister confesses.

She meets Hope’s gaze across the room, and sees the moment Hope realizes.

 

Because suddenly, everything that’s happened between them means something else entirely.

 

Because Josie set the world on fire to stop something from happening that they're too late to walk away from.

Because in a horribly ironic twist of fate, she and Hope carved out the niches they had left for each other in their lives, because they couldn't stay away and now they're stranded here, in a mess Lizzie has no idea how to clean up.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many people were involved in the creation of this chapter that it almost feels like a group project to me. 
> 
> it was quite difficult to write, for some reason, and I never could have done it without all of them. 
> 
> so thank you, 
> 
> to snow, for letting me use the gorgeous, magical ending she came up with and being so wonderfully encouraging.  
> to bee, for giving me the best motivation ever, in the world, to finish this chapter  
> to alex, for being kind enough to proofread this mess and make it so much better  
> to nic, ale, sunny, maggie, hale, sana and all the other people who's support & enthusiasm I am so grateful for. im sure ive forgotten someone, because im a messy person, so sorry!
> 
> and thank you to all of you who read this, and especially those that leave comments and kudos, because that is such a wonderful encouragement and im very, very grateful.

She ends up in the gym. When she sees that she’s not alone, she wants to leave, but Hope turns her head, spots her.

 

“Oh look,” she mutters, “It’s Elena 2.0.”

 

“Not fair,” Hope says, “and not true.”

 

She stands for several seconds and doesn’t know what to do, finally just sinks down next to Hope, on the ground.

 

“Sorry,” she says.

 

Hope shrugs. “Today's been pretty horrible."

 

“I’m sorry I never asked you,” she says, finally, “If any of it was even true.”

 

Hope shakes her head. “I’d been pushing everyone away for years. You had no reason to believe me. And every reason to believe Josie.”

 

She watches their hands on the ground, not even an inch between them.

 

“Hope,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “Jo- I can’t.”

 

Hope squeezes her hand, just once, before she lets go. “I know.”

 

She can’t bring herself to leave, and apparently neither can Hope and so they stay there, on the cold linoleum floor of the gym, lying next to each other, not touching.

 

On the clock, far up on the wall, seconds, minutes and hours tick by.

 

When they go their separate ways the next morning, Hope leans up and places a slow, lingering kiss on her cheek.

 

“Friends?” she suggests, almost quietly. The offer that Lizzie Saltzman has been waiting for more than ten years suddenly fills her with a despairing sense of loss.

 

But Lizzie nods, and leaves, and traces her fingers over her cheek, where she can still feel the touch of Hope’s lips, warm and soft.

  
  
  


 

Josie apologises.

 

The next morning.

 

And the next afternoon.

 

“It’s fine,” Lizzie promises her. She means it.

 

Lizzie forgives her easily.

 

The debt she owes Josie is immeasurable.

 

Her sister has been the keeper of her sanity for as long as she can remember.

 

Jo is the reason her episodes are few and far between.

 

The reason the school is still standing.

 

And the fact that the burdens they carry are too much sometimes is not something either of them can change.

 

This is a price she can pay in return.

 

Because whatever the reason, Josie didn’t want her to go after Hope.

 

And she won’t.

 

Instead, she sneaks away into the quietness of the woods, screams and screams and hollers as the trees shake in front of her.

 

Because she is not quite ready to face her sister.

 

Because forgiveness is more than just rational.

 

And the pain from knowing that the one person in the world that she loves more than anyone betrayed her, _that_ stings in a way she does not want to put into words.

  
  


 

 

She climbs up the stairs of the old mill, slips over the edge and onto the roof, until the sun is there to burn her face and she can let her feet dangle off the edge.

 

“This feels like a death trap,” Hope says, standing behind her.

 

It nearly is, and she startles, and only Hope’s hand, suddenly on her shoulder, holds her firmly in place. “Not when no one sneaks up on me.”

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Hope says.

 

Hope sits down, inches and far too much space between them.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

 

Hope doesn’t reply, just shrugs quietly, and they both stay out there, again, watching the sun set.

 

Too many words that Lizzie wants to say.

 

Too many she’s not allowing herself to say.

  
  
  


 

Spring break sneaks by, and she keeps herself busy, and waits for the day to pass. She avoids Hope, which is easy, because she and Lizzie’s father are already gone again, saving the world, something like that. She avoids Josie, which is hard, because Josie is trying to make amends and Lizzie doesn’t know how to even meet her eyes.

 

“You’re sad,” Pedro says and she sighs, says, “yes.” She doesn’t like lies. Now maybe, less than ever.

 

Her nights pass slowly.

 

She tosses and turns and feels restless.

 

Sometimes, hidden in the darkness, she thinks about Hope.

 

Reads the few texts they exchanged.

 

She’s only human, after all.

 

One little weakness can slip through, while the world is asleep.

 

The phone almost slips from her hand when three dots appear, disappear, appear again. She watches they rhythm for minutes before a text appears.

 

_Can I see you?_

 

Before she’s even had the chance to reply, another follows.

 

_Nevermind._

 

_Sorry._

 

She can feel her breathing quicken. Something feels off about this, a distinct sense of urgency she can’t shake. She puts her phone down, lifts it up again seconds later before she finally sits up, slips her shoes on.

 

She sneaks outside quietly, years of practice in not waking Josie up proving useful, because she has no idea how to even begin explaining this to her sister.

 

Once she’s reached Hope’s room, she lets herself in, is greeted with the sight of Hope, pale and shivering, huddled under the blankets, and she feels something cold run over her body.

 

“Lizzie,” Hope mutters, and she sounds distracted and distraught.

 

Lizzie doesn’t think twice, shifts them until she can wrap Hope up in her arms and feels quiet sobs against her shoulder. She’s not certain how long they stay like that, her fingers running through Hope’s hair, Hope’s face pressed against her.

 

Finally, finally, Hope turns quiet against her.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hope whispers and Lizzie has to strain to hear her. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

 

“That’s what friends are for, right?” Lizzie mutters, presses her lips to the crown of Hope’s head and lingers there.

 

Hope relaxes, a little, but Lizzie keeps an arm tightly wrapped around her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Hope nods, but doesn’t say anything. Lizzie strokes over her arm, soft, careful movements, waits. Can read Hope easily by now. Knows that she’s trying to find the right words.

 

“M.G., Raf and Landon snuck out to visit M.G.s parents,” she begins, continues until she’s told the whole story, Landon’s death, M.G.’s werewolf bite, Landon’s return.

 

And Lizzie thinks about Hope, much younger than now and broken and devastated after the death of her parents and feels rage bubble up inside of her, wants to protect her from all suffering, past, present and future, forever and ever after.

 

But Hope has never needed anyone’s rage.

 

Doesn’t need more people to fight for her.

 

Die for her.

 

So instead, Lizzie focuses on Hope, promises and promises that it’s going to be okay, until she can feel Hope melt against her, her breathing becoming more and more even with every passing second.

 

“Stay?” Hope whispers into the silence, a request, a plea, Lizzie doesn’t know.

 

“Yes,” she promises.

 

She watches over Hope that night, watches as her breathing evens out, as she slowly falls into sleep, a little uneasy at first, but then restful and deep.

  


 

 

“Where were you?” Jo asks her, in the morning.

 

“In the woods,” she lies, knows that Josie will accept the excuse easily.

 

Feels guilt pile on at the worried glance her sister shoots her.

  


 

 

After that night, she knows she can’t stay away.

 

Not completely.

 

She doesn’t want to.

 

And she can’t abandon Hope.

 

But she can’t- _can’t_ break the promise she made for herself - can’t risk her relationship with her sister more than she already has.

 

A compromise.

 

“We’re going shopping,” she says, lingers in the doorway of Hope’s room, does not go inside. Friends don’t just walk into friend’s room, sit on the bed, tie them-

 

Friends. They’re friends. Friends who shop together.

 

Hope stares at her for several seconds, looking utterly dumbfounded and Lizzie watches her, the way her eyes widen in the surprise, how she tilts her head in contemplation and bites down on her own lip before she finally replies.

 

“Okay,” she says, easy assents, reaches for her bag.

 

“You’re driving,” she adds, hands Hope the keys to the car.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“To Mystic Falls. I need a dress.” She’d always thought she’d go with Josie, but her sister is preoccupied these days, and in all honesty, so is Lizzie. And this is friendly. Safe.

 

And it doesn’t actually go that badly. Better than expected maybe, because Hope is actually good company, sarcastically funny and whip-smart.

 

Her zipper gets stuck, of course, because that’s just what was bound to happen if she tries on thirty dresses one after the other.

 

Hope’s fingers linger on her back, tugging at the zipper. Lizzie is certain that the catch in her breath is audible, especially when Hope meets her eyes in the mirror and for a second, she lets go.

 

Imagines Hope’s hand sliding down, pulling up the flimsy material of the golden dress, slipping inside of her. Imagines letting herself fall back against Hope, Hope watching her.

 

“Thank you,” she says, and prays that her voice sounds more stable than she feels.

 

They get ice cream and she thinks friends, burns it into her brain as a constant litany.  

 

They don’t stop spending time together as the days go by.

 

Hope is easy to talk to, after everything they’ve been through, alone and together.

 

They stay in public, get ice cream and lunch and talk about light things and heavy ones.

 

Lizzie confesses to missing her mother.

 

Hope admits that she is angry sometimes, at all the choices and sacrifices that were made for her.

 

They talk about music, about jazz and about anything and everything.

  
  


Hope doesn’t judge her.

 

Not once.

 

Not when she says that she knows M.G. is into her, but that she knows that she’s far more than he could handle.

 

Not even when she talks about her episodes, about the free-falling with all safety lines snapped, just how much it scares her to lose control.

 

About the secret, hidden elation of not caring.

  
  
  


 

Until it all comes crashing back.

 

On the day that is supposed to be everything.

 

On the day where she is trying to be normal.

 

On the one day that is about her, about the school, about beauty and perfection and memories.

 

“I need a release,” Hope says, requests a strenuous task and Lizzie silently curses the paleness of her skin, pushes away all the thoughts that spring to mind far, far too quickly about exactly how she could tire Hope out.

 

Instead, she makes the best of the hand they’ve been dealt. Hope can be Miss Mystic Falls. She’s the perfect candidate.

 

The chandelier is shaking, close to its breaking point and she rushes through the room, places her hand firmly on Hope’s shoulder.

 

“Come with me,” she orders, ignores the way Hope goes pliant underneath her hands, follows her lead out of the room.

 

She grabs their coats, keeps ahold of Hope’s hand as she leads her into the woods.

 

“Let it out”, she says, watches Hope scream and the magic explode. Thinks that Hope is beautiful like this, wild and free and unrestrained.

 

Hope turns around and she looks a little better, but the tension in her posture is still far, far too obvious.

 

“Try again,” Lizzie says. “For real this time.”

 

“Why do you even care?” Hope bites out and it irks her, to see Hope like this, biting and sarcastic and lost.

 

“Damn it, Mikaelson,” she says, “just let it out, or you’ll end up killing someone or exposing us.”

 

“You’re not my therapist either,” Hope says, snarky.

 

“I’m trying to be your friend,” Lizzie tells her and she can feel her own anger rising.

 

“Maybe we don’t make good friends,” Hope bites out.

 

Lizzie rolls her eyes, feels the frustration and the tension of the last weeks bubbling up. “Maybe we don’t.”

 

And she’s so sick and so tired of fighting this, of fighting Hope like this. So she closes the distance between them, crashes her mouth against Hope’s.

 

Hope lets out the most delicious gasp of surprise and Lizzie has no idea how she went so long without this, without the softness of Hope’s lips and the hint of a sharper sting as Hope bites down, pulls her impossibly closer.

 

Hope’s hands are on her hips and she can only bring her closer and closer and _closer-_

 

Hope’s mouth is moving over her neck, sucking at her pulse point as her hands are fumbling with the buttons of Lizzie’s coat, tossing it to the ground. Hope’s coat follows and Hope’s thigh ends up between her legs and Lizzie whimpers and tangles her hands in Hope’s hair and rocks her hips, chases the friction of Hope pressing against her.

 

Hope rips at her blouse, pushes her bra out of the way. Lizzie arches against her, Hope’s hands against her breasts and rolling her nipples.

 

And everything is frantic and urgent, weeks of pent-up tension and she meets Hope’s gaze, and all of this feels different, now.

 

Just for a second, they’re both frozen, time standing still and Lizzie tugs at Hope’s auburn locks, pulls her in closer, again. This kiss is bruising, filled with anger, at themselves, at each other, at the circumstances they’re caught in.

 

Hope’s hands slide up her legs and over her ass and Hope lifts her up and her body is pressed between the tree behind of her and Hope in front of her.

 

And there is nothing anchoring her to the ground anymore, only Hope’s hold on her.

 

“Come on,” she pleads and Hope slides her hand over the exposed skin of her stomach, dragging her nails and Lizzie whimpers.

 

She’s embarrassingly wet by the time Hope pushes her underwear out of the way, slides two fingers inside of her.

 

She groans and clenches and presses her fingers into Hope’s back, through the thin material of her top.

 

Hope’s thumb circles her clit, and Lizzie arches closer and closer to her and Lizzie lets Hope hold, lets Hope fuck her and falls to pieces when Hope curls her fingers just right, kisses her.

 

Hope doesn’t stop kissing her, not until she’s standing on the ground again, a little shaky still, leaning against the tree.

 

They get dressed in silence and it reminds her of the first time, of the quietness of the gym, now replaced by the woods. She siphons from one of the trees, uses magic to repair the torn buttons and the rips in her blouse.

 

And then, everything is different, because Hope catches her arm, spins her around, fixes the ribbon around her neck. Lizzie’s heart beats, faster and faster.

 

“We should get back to the school,” she forces out and Hope follows her and Lizzie feels the world turning far too fast, wants to run back into the woods and hide out there forever.

 

Safe from secrets, lies and truths.

 

 

 

She calls her mother.

 

It’s- she doesn’t like doing that.

 

Not because her mother isn’t amazing.

 

Or doesn’t give the best advice.

 

But because it feels like chasing after empty dreams, to call a mother who seems to spend her life running away from her daughters.

 

But she knows that she’s in over her head.

 

Has no idea where to go from here.

 

And for so long, it’s been her and Josie against the world, and she still can’t bring herself to admit the truth to her sister and she hates that.

 

Her mother’s voice sounds shaky when she answers the call. “Lizzie?” The surprise in her voice burns, bitter and sharp. Her daughter, the last person she could be expecting.

 

Lizzie ignores the feeling.

 

“I was - seeing someone. Someone who I found out Josie used to have feelings for. Someone who she didn’t want me to go after.”

 

For several seconds, there is nothing but quiet over the phone, until her mother clears her throat. “So in the interest of full disclosure, you should know that Josie called me and told me that she set the fire. And that she used to have a crush on Hope.”

 

“I’m hanging up.”

 

“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Elizabeth Saltzman.”

 

She stays on the phone. Stays silent. “So, I’m guessing that Josie doesn’t know how you feel about Hope?”

 

“No,” she mutters.

 

“And what’s Hope position on all of this?”

 

“We’re friends.” Her mother doesn’t say anything, so Lizzie continues. “I’m not - look- it doesn’t matter. Josie is more important.”

 

“Josie is head over heels in love with Penelope Park, Lizzie,” her mother says. “And you deserve to be happy.”

 

She doesn’t quite know what to say. Doesn’t know how to explain that she needs Josie. That she needs Hope. That she’s afraid.

 

“Klaus Mikaelson loved me,” her mother says, finally, and Lizzie’s urge to hang up shoots through the roof. She had forgotten about this particular detail in her mother’s life story.

 

“This conversation just got weirder,” she says.

 

Her mother chuckles. “Weirdness has always been our forte, darling. Just bear with me.”

 

So she listens. “Klaus and I, we thought we had an eternity to be together. I thought I would let him chase me until loving him back didn’t feel like a risk anymore.” Caroline sighs. “I was wrong, Lizzie. Loving someone is always a risk. Sometimes, it’s just worth the leap.”

 

The words stay with her, even as she gets dressed, checks on the decorations one last time, makes sure every single detail is in place.

  


 

 

Everything is going perfectly. She might be feeling distracted and on edge, but the hall looks impeccable. Josie’s standing at the top of the stairs, arguing with Penelope, and Lizzie meets her sister’s eyes. They’re a team.

 

Everything is going as planned.

 

Behind Josie, there’s a rustle and Landon suddenly storms away.

 

He leaves Hope behind, absolutely spectacular in her blue dress, staring behind him, tears visible on her face.

 

Nothing is perfect anymore.

 

And something in her breaks in that moment, seeing Hope looking lost and broken and alone at the top of the stairs.

 

And Lizzie makes her choice.

 

Chooses Hope.

 

She looks around, sees Kaleb standing next to her and grabs his arm. "Get me up there right now."

 

"What-", she doesn't really care what he's about to say.

 

“Top of the stairs, now,” she repeats and seconds later, she’s catching her footing, is standing next to Hope.

 

Hope, who looks utterly startled to see her, just stares at her for several seconds. "Liz."

 

In front of them, Josie turns around and meets her eyes. Lizzie answers her gaze, defiant, and they’re locked in a stare down, a thousand conversations no one else in the world can even see.

 

"I'm not tripping," Josie says at last.

 

"I'm revoking your dibs on Hope."

 

"Fine by me," Josie snarls.

 

"Fine." Lizzie bites back and absolutely does not smile even a little.

 

Instead, she holds out her arm to Hope.

 

“Let me escort you?” she asks and Hope looks at her and her smile is absolutely blinding as she links their arms, tangles their fingers together, which is most definitely against the rules of the competition.

 

Lizzie doesn’t care.

  
  


 

 

 

Hope wins. Lizzie knew she would. The science was on her side, after all.

 

Lizzie may not have won, but it doesn’t really matter anymore.

 

What matters is this:

 

Josie and Penelope, dancing, her sister finally, _finally_ , looking a little less heartbroken.

 

(She’s totally going to threaten the living daylights out of Penelope Park tomorrow.)

 

Her mother, handing over the crown to Hope with a smile on her face. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” she says, and for a moment, Lizzie’s world is whole.

 

Later that night, Hope, in a black bathrobe, her hair loose and wavy, falling over her shoulders, sliding into Lizzie’s lap and kissing her, soft and slow, no urgency.

 

This time, they have all the time in the world.

  



End file.
